21st Century Kid
by Jake Nickleby
Summary: Because Lewis changed the future, Wilbur has to deal with the fact that he had never been to the past, as well as dealing with discovering the Robinson's past, and how they all came together as a family.
1. 21st Century Kid

Disclaimer: All characters and events related to _Meet the Robinsons_ are owned by William Joyce and Walt Disney Animation Studios. All lyric rights to _21__st__ Century Kid_ (from the album _Catching Tales_) belong to Jaime Cullum and EMI Music Publishing. Jamie Cullum appears courtesy of Universal Classics & Jazz.

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Chapter One: 21st Century Kid

Wilbur bolted straight up in bed, drenched in sweat. Panting heavily, he glanced around his bedroom, taking in his surroundings. Glancing at his alarm clock, he read the glowing red numbers: 12:00 AM, Mon. 3/30/37. Throwing back the covers, he quickly jumped out of bed and silently ran out of the room, down long halls, through the travel tubes, and to the garage.

Still panting heavily, he stared at the time machines that stood before him. He sat down, crossing his legs into a pretzel shape. Propping his left elbow against his knee, he rested his head in the palm of his hand. His mind was racing so fast, that his body could not keep up. Nearly dozing off in his sitting position, Wilbur heard a sleepy voice behind him.

"Wilbur? What are you doing awake?"

His eyes snapped open, and sat up straight in his seat on the concrete floor. He turned his head to see his father's sparkling blue eyes filled with worry.

"Dad. What are you doing down here?" the thirteen-year-old asked as his father took several, slow steps closer to him. Cornelius gave a small chuckle.

"That's what I'm asking _you_," he replied, kneeling down next to his son. Wilbur's eyes wandered around the concrete floor, resting his head in his hand once again.

"Just making sure I shut the garage door…" Cornelius put a hand on his son's forehead, then on the right side of his neck. "Wilbur, you have a fever," Cornelius stated, as he checked the boy's body temperature. Wilbur's eyes wandered around some more, brushing off his father's concern, unaware of his own well being.

"It's nothing, Dad," he said spaciously as he wiped away some sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand.

"Wilbur, what has gotten you so worked up?" his father asked. Wilbur glanced up at his father's eyes, then quickly looked down at his hands.

"Does this," his father asked, lightly ruffling his son's jet black hair, "have something to do with more than just the garage door?" Wilbur nodded his head slowly. Cornelius fell silent for a few minutes, contemplating.

"Do you remember what I told you when I first started building the time machines?" Wilbur slowly nodded, then slowly shook his head. "Hmm… How can I put this simply? With such a complicated matter, I guess I can't." Cornelius cleared his throat slightly.

"Well, I told you that someday you would possibly experience seemingly unexplainable events that would occur in your dreams. By traveling in time, even the smallest occurrence can change, setting off an entirely different chain of events."

Wilbur tried to comprehend what his father was trying to say to him. Though many things were still unclear, he started to get a grasp on the concept. It was just like in his dream. What he dreamt of really did happened at one point, but because he altered the past, that generation was now non-existent and what was left of it was in his dreams.

Cornelius gently raised his son's chin with his hand and smiled sadly. "I should have told you sooner." Wilbur swallowed.

"About what? Told me what?" There was a long silence as Wilbur stared closely into his father's eyes. "Lewis?" he finally whispered. The man nodded his head, and the boy quickly pulled himself closer to his father, burying himself in a ferocious hug. Astounded at the boy's action, he tenderly hugged him back.

But… "It's not fair." Cornelius pulled away and ran his fingers through his son's hair.

"I know," he said. "It's not fair that I got to live that life you dreamt of and you didn't. And I'm sorry that my work keeps me away from you more often than not, but I would have never been so close to you now if I never met you that day, thirty years ago."

Wilbur smiled weakly as his father saw his eyelids start to droop. Cornelius put his hand against the boy's forehead again. "You need to rest. Your fever should be gone by morning, so let's go back to bed." Wilbur nodded his head, getting up and making his way across the room.

The man also stood up, but walked in the other direction, towards the garage's entrance. The door had been left ajar. Cornelius chuckled to himself, and shut the door tight. Kids will be kids, he thought, walking out of the garage.

* * *

Wilbur woke up several hours later to see the golden morning sun rays streaming through his bedroom window. He buried his face deep into his pillow- so soft, so warm, so inviting. He sighed sadly, knowing that the feeling would not last forever. Pushing himself off his mattress, he got out of bed and walked out of his room.

The thirteen-year-old could hear his mother's all-frog band in their morning session of daily practice as he walked past his mother's music room. Frankie, the lead vocalist, sang a sweet melody of a new song he wrote.

"_There's maybe a way I could tell you"_

The songs Frankie wrote slightly irritated Wilbur, knowing the stories behind each tune.

_"'Cause with every day things continue"_

The teenage boy knew that each original composition of Frankie's were about Frankie's life or the life of a Robinson.

_"To get more compromised"_

This particular one being played this morning was obviously about Wilbur Robinson.

_"So who will fantasize"_

He lifted his hand and touched his head, groaning. His fever was gone, but he did not feel much better.

_"A new generation politicized"_

Wilbur was not in the mood this morning to listen to a song about himself.

_"Twenty-first century kid _

_Surrounded by illusion and confusion _

_So may be if you're holding out for the truth now _

_Could it be the greatest weapon?_

_Your weapon"_

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End of Chapter One

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14 September 2007


	2. April Terrors

For disclaimer on _Meet the Robinsons_, please refer to chapter one.

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Chapter Two: April Terrors

"No-no," the boy muttered, "I-I can't!"

The dark-haired boy stared intensely into sapphire eyes. "Look, I messed up…" His heart pounded painfully in his chest. "But now it's up to you…" Wilbur swallowed the lump in his throat. "You can do it, Dad." Then his body began to fade, lifting away like a foggy sky.

"Lewis?" Wilbur screamed. "Lewis!" And for the second time in one month, he found himself bolting straight up in bed, feverishly drenched in sweat.

Wilbur realized he had woken up in the middle of the night, panting heavily. The panting turned into choked sobs, as Wilbur sunk back into his sweat-soaked pillow. He glanced over at his alarm clock. It read 12:00 AM Wed. 4/29/37. Everything that had happened was just a tragic dream.

The dream he had was way more intense than he had a month before, and what troubled Wilbur was suspecting that the dream was possible for a life that could have been his. His father had said to him before about experiencing events in his sleep from different lifetimes that were altered in the past.

It was getting harder to try to suppress the tears and cries that desperately wanted to come out of him. Wilbur Robinson does not cry, he reminded himself. But who cares? he thought. No one was watching him. This nightmare had been so disturbing, he nearly gave in and let himself cry. Though, he managed to fall into a dreamless sleep before shedding a tear.

* * *

Wilbur woke again later in the morning, with bright light shinning in his room. His head felt cold and heavy, yet the rest of his body felt painfully hot and sweaty. It took him several minutes for him to realize that he had a sopping wet washcloth placed on top of his forehead.

A few more moments passed before Wilbur heard a soft knock on the door. As the door opened, Wilbur saw out of the corner of his eye the turquoise skirt of a woman's dress, and a tray full of food being carried toward him.

"What time is it?" the boy asked.

"It's ten forty-five," came the Bulgarian-accent reply. "Franny came in earlier to wake you up for school, but oh! Quite a fever you have! Even in your sleep, Franny could tell how ill you were. She called your school's office to report your absence while I made your soup."

The tray was set down, and soft, brown curls came into view. Wilbur stared up into the woman's large, deer-like eyes as she took off the washcloth and gently helped him sit up.

"Auntie Billie? You think you could stay with me for a while?" he asked as she relocated the tray onto his lap.

"Sure thing, kiddo," she replied, sitting down on the side of his bed. "Eat up while it's still hot. It will make you better." Aunt Billie picked up a plastic bottle. "Uncle Art brought you multi-vitamin gummies! They're shaped like little race cars!"

"What am I, a kid?"

"Yes!"

He noisily slurped up a spoonful of chicken broth.

"Your father is really worried about you, you know. Saying that you've been having night terrors and then breaking out into a fever once you wake up."

Wilbur coughed, dribbling some soup from his lips. "He hasn't said what the dreams were about, did he?"

"Oh, he wouldn't do that. Not unless you wanted him to."

Wilbur took another sip of soup when he heard a familiar tune wafting through his room.

_"There's maybe a way I could tell you…"_

Wilbur threw down his spoon irritably. "I wish he would stop singing that song!" he yelled, picking up his pillow and throwing it in the direction of his bedroom door. Folding his arms across his chest, he grumbled, "He gets on my nerves."

_"Shout it from the brink"_

"_You're louder than you think"_

Billie tried to hide her giggle. "It's _not_funny," Wilbur muttered, glaring at a corner of the room.

"Oh but Wilbur, indeed it is!" The boy pouted. "Don't let Frankie get to you," his great aunt advised, as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know he can be a bit of a tease," she continued, rolling her eyes, "but he's just trying to have some fun. He means no harm, so try to… oh, how do you say? You should try to 'go with flow'."

Wilbur was still and silent, before bursting out with laughter. To hear his aunt to say something like, "go with the flow" was so hilarious, it actually made him feel a bit better.

Billie lifted the tray from his lap and placed it on the nightstand. "You better get some more rest." Wilbur collapsed onto his pillow with a smile on his face. He did not feel so feverish anymore.

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End of Chapter Two

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14 September 2007


	3. Recalling Morning's Events

For disclaimer on _Meet the Robinsons_, please refer to chapter one.

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Chapter Three: Recalling Morning's Events

Franny shuffled through a pile of folded laundry in the basket she carried, as she walked through her son's bedroom. Noticing the slumbering child, she quietly walked over to his dresser and placed he clean clothing on top of the polished wooden counter. Hearing a soft sigh escape from the young teen's lips, Franny wistfully looked over at the boy sleeping peacefully in bed.

She tiptoed to the bedside, and gently pressed her fingertips to his soft, pallid face. His fever was completely gone, but he was definitely still ill. Another day home from school, Franny groaned. She hated to have Wilbur miss school.

The forty-year-old woman tenderly pushed a few strands of hair away from his clammy forehead as he muttered an incoherent phrase under his breath. Smiling, Franny was pleased that her son looked so blissful in his sleep. She had worried herself earlier, seeing his face twisted in pain as he tossed and turned on his sweat-soaked mattress.

"Wilbur," she had said to him that morning, shaking him on the shoulder. "Wilbur, wake up." It was no use. He was deeply asleep, and there seemed to be no way to wake him in time for school.

She put a hand on the side of his neck, feeling the radiating heat of his skin. Concerned, the dark-haired woman rushed out of the room, nearly having a head-on collision with her husband.

"Fran!" the blonde man exclaimed, holding her sensitively by her upper arms. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Oh, it's nothing," she responded, her features laced with distress. "It's just that Wilbur will probably have to stay home from school today. He's really burning up."

"WHAT? _AGAIN_?" Cornelius shouted a little too loudly, in shock. He tried to look over his wife's shoulder, peering into the boy's bedroom.

"What do you mean 'again'?" Franny asked with an eyebrow raised. "Has this happened before?"

"Once, at least, a month ago. He's been having these…"

"Night terrors?" Franny suggested.

"Exactly. Then he gets all feverish!"

"What's wrong with Wilbur?" Billie asked, overhearing most of the couple's conversation as she came down the hall. "You're quite loud, by the way, Cornelius."

"Sorry, Billie."

"Wilbur is sick with a fever, Billie," Franny told the train enthusiast. "I better go call the office and tell them that he won't make it to school today," she pondered, pulling away from the man's grasp and walked down the hall. An idea sparked underneath the other woman's turquoise cap.

"I will go make him soup!" she said excitedly, running towards the direction of the kitchen's location.

* * *

Franny shook her head, bringing her out of her memory. Wilbur muttered another incoherent phrase in his sleep. Tilting her head, she leaned close to him, hoping to figure out what he was saying. She straightened up, smiling, sure that he had said something along the lines of "never thought… dad could be… best friend…"

Picking up the laundry basket, Franny made her way out of the room. Walking out the door, she nearly ran into another figure plodding past.

"Gaston!" the younger sibling called, startled.

"Oh, sorry, sis," her older brother apologized.

Franny looked intensely at him, studying his facial features. He had an uneasy look in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth were turned into a grimace. It was the same expression he had when she had asked him to live with her and the Robinsons.

"Gaston," she said suspiciously. "What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing," he answered, continuing to trudge down the hall. Franny followed his movements, still wondering about his strange behavior. Exhaling, the woman walked off in the other direction. Hopefully she can get him to talk about it later.

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End of Chapter Three

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16 September 2007


	4. Gaston's Past

For disclaimer on _Meet the Robinsons_, please refer to chapter one.

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Chapter Four: Gaston's Past

Franny sat at the kitchen counter with her chin propped up against the palm of her hand, and a steaming cup of tea clutched in the other hand. She could not get her mind off of the odd encounter with her older brother. While she tried to figure out the matter, a faint slapping of bare feet against the cold, tiled floor echoed through the silent room.

"Mom?" a voice called weakly. Franny sat up straight, and turned to the figure coming into the kitchen.

"Wilbur, honey," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he croaked, sitting down on a stool next to hers. He paused for a moment as she affectionately stroked his hair. "I guess," he added. The boy looked at his mother's troubled, saddened face.

"Mom, I know that look," he said. "Something's bothering you." Franny inhaled deeply.

"I think your uncle might be in trouble."

"What?" Wilbur said, a little stunned. "Who?"

"Gaston," she answered. "It's just a hunch. There might not be anything wrong with him. We'll have to see…"

"But why do you think he is?" he asked.

"Because I've seen the look on his face when he has been deeply in trouble. I've only seen it once before, but I know that look anywhere." She reached out and stroke his face some more.

"You're growing up so quickly, aren't you?" she lowered her and grasped onto her mug again. Franny hesitated. Should she really tell a thirteen-year-old about her distress? Yes, Wilbur was ready. "I guess you're old enough to know." She took a quick sip of her tea as she prepared herself to tell the story.

"You see, a few months before you were born, your uncle Gaston went missing…"

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_Thursday, November 23rd 2023_

Billie walked into the crowded building with a paper bag full of groceries. She did this every Thanksgiving, providing food for the homeless shelter. Although she was in good spirits, she noticed that her usual optimistic personality was not as hyperactive as it usually was. The curly brunette concluded that it was sympathy she felt for her sister-in-law. Well, her niece-in-law, technically, but it was just too strange to call her a "niece" when she was only seven years older. That is what she gets for marrying a man who had been the baby of the family...

Billie thought back on the events that Franny delt through the past month as she carried the bag full of food to a room that connected the dining hall and the way that led to the kitchen.

It started out as a small problem. Then the situation became more serious. Only three weeks before, Franny had tried to contact her older brother, inviting him over for Thanksgiving dinner, but she could not get a hold of him.

She left a message on his apartment's answering machine and waited for a day or two. Then she called again, leaving another message for another couple of days. The young woman called for a third time, but this time not even the answering machine picked up. Franny became suspicious.

After contacting several different connections with no luck finding the man, Franny went directly to his apartment. She pounded at the door, waiting for him to open the door.

"Hey, you looking for Framagucci?" a voice called from behind. She turned around, coming face-to-face with a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in an undershirt, standing at the door of his apartment across the hall. "You won't find him. I heard he got evicted about a week ago." Franny frowned in disbelief, and her eyebrows furiously knitted together.

"What?" she asked. It was the most absurd thing she had ever heard.

"Evicted," the man replied. "Just a week ago."

"Do you know where I can find him?" she asked calmly.

"Have no idea. He took off without a word. It happened rather quickly too. Never would have noticed that he left."

* * *

Billie admired Franny so much at the moment. The young woman was dealing through a lot, and yet she was being very strong about it. Not only that, but she was willing to help Billie with her Thanksgiving Feast donations.

"Billie!" the owner of the shelter called. "I can always count on you to show up, can't I?" He walked over and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. Taking the bags from her, the man said, "I'll just bring these to the kitchen and I'll be right back, alright?" Billie nodded.

"I will wait right here," she called out plesantly. Standing there, Billie absorbed her surroundings. She realized that she was standing in the middle of the room with no task at hand. So she was left lamely until her friend came back to give her further instructions. The woman shuffled her feet as she took a look around the room.

Turning around, the enormous dining hall just beyond the room behind her was filled with people of all backgrounds- young, middle-aged, seniors; men, women, children; mothers, fathers; sisters, brothers; families... bachleors.

Billie cocked her head curiously, trying to get a closer look at a lone man, who was presumably in his early thirties, that she thought he had taken a glance at her. He turned his head around so quickly, she wasn't sure. He was sitting on a bench with his back towards her, his arms stretched behind him, grasping onto the back of the bench's seat. The sleeves of his flannel shirt were unbuttoned, hanging off of his thin wrists. His body was slumped slightly over and his head hanging low, which may have verified that she did afterall see a defeated expression on his face when he had turned his face in her direction for that brief moment. Strands of his dark hair, which he originally had pushed back away from his face, were starting to limp forward.

The thirty-three-year-old decided to seize the opportunity to provide more than just food to those in need during this holiday season, walking briskly over to the man. Billie plopped down to the right side of him, close to the end of the bench, causing the fellow to flinch out of startlement. His arms gave way, and he nearly slipped off the bench with flailing arms. As a result, he had scooted half a foot farther down the bench away from the surprise visitor.

"May I help you?" he asked, slowly reurning back into his slouching position. He wrapped his hands over his upper arms and rubbed nervously. The flannel shirt he wore hung open over a faded black tee shirt. Old dirty jeans were held up with a black leather belt, and once-white tennis sneakers seemed better days.

Billie, continuing to keep her sparkling smile on, unwound the ivory fleece scarf (that matched her white winter coat with the faux fur trim) from around her neck and handed it to him. This dining hall was uncomfortably warm with the heating system blasted on high, but of course the man had to be sitting at the far side of the room where it had that precise spot where it was always cold and drafty.

He looked up at her with sad brown eyes, staring in stupefaction. Billie only nudge the scarf to him, her grin never faltering. His gaze landed back on the offering, and hesitantly he reached out for it. Draping it over his neck, he gripped the front edge of the bench and leaned his torso faintly forward, now averting his sight away from his new confidant.

"Um, thanks," he said anxiously, turning his head enough so she could see his profile. Ah, so he speaks! Billie thought.

She nodded to him, as if to say, "it is my pleasure" or "it is no problem whatsoever" or even "no need to thank me". Instead, the response she had given him was, "We need to look out for each other, especially during this time of year." Her bright smile softened to a more sincere one. "No one deserve to be alone..." The man pulled his vision away again, taking his left hand to resume rubbing at his upper right arm.

"I'm not alone..." he muttered. "Well," he clarified in a more audible voice, sitting himself up straight and Billie was able to see his profile more distinctly again. "I _have_ a family..." His hands clasped together, and he rested his elbows on his knees. Once again, he turned his head the other way. "They just don't know I'm here..." he finished off, muttering again.

Finally, Billie's smile had washed away, replaced by curiosity. "How come?"

The man pivoted to face her. "Well, look at me," he spoke up, spreading his arms out to gesture to himself. "I'm a single thirty-something, laid off from an unsatisfactory job with discouraging pay and unable to find a replacement job before the next month's rent was due, and because all of my previous payments weren't in full, I get kicked out to the curb." He paused to sigh, head fallen yet again. "I just didn't want everyone to see me as such a failure."

The brunette took a moment of silence before advising, "But from failing, you learn."

He whipped his head around to look her square in the eye. "Yeah, but this?" He gestured his hands in the space in front of himself, to testify his current state. "I knew what was wrong, and I still couldn't make it on my own." He bent forward to fixtate his attention to his shoes.

Billie stared at him sadly. It took her a bit longer to muster up, "There is nothing wrong for asking for help."

Slowly, the man turned around, and looked into those doe eyes.

"Your family is there to help you. Friends, too. No need to hide."

And miraculously, he smiled.

"Thanks, um..." he held out his hand.

"Billie," she introduced herself with that heavy Bulgarian accent of hers, shaking his hand with her black leather winter gloves still on.

"Gaston?" a small, heartbroken voice called from behind the pair. Their heads turned around simultaneously. Franny, in her bright red wool coat that pulled snuggly around her large pregnant belly, stood there shell-shocked with tears sparkling in her eyes.

Billie mused that Franny must have dropped off the homemade apple and pumpkin pies that she donated in the kitchen, only to return to find her in-law chatting up this so-called stranger.

The man named Gaston sprung up from his seat and wrapped his arms around the dark-haired woman.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear.

Franny pulled away enough to look up at him.

"You could have told me," the woman said breathlessly. "You don't have to be so proud all the time!" she cried, voice thick with dismay.

"Hey," he said with a smirk. "Then I wouldn't be a Framagucci, would I?"

She giggled. Then her expression became a little more serious again. "Come to dinner with us," she requested. "For me?" Her eyes pleaded. "We've got a room that you can stay in, as long as you like. You can find your own place whenever you want, but just don't keep me in the dark again."

"Promise," he reassured, latching his pinky finger onto hers.

He turned his attention to her bun in the oven. hands on either side of her belly. "That's your nephew in there." Franny looked down, "Say, 'hey!', Wilbur!" she called softly. And for the first time in weeks, Gaston chuckled.

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End of Chapter Four

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Author's Note: I know you're all probably upset with me for going on a four-year hiatus. That's what five years of schooling will do to ya. But seeing how I conceived my _MTR_ stories during my first year of college, and as this is my last year before transfer, I'm celebrating my one-month summer break by updating all of my work. I just want to thank you all for your loyalty- reviewing, subscribing, and favoring. I hope I have done justice to the rest of this tale for all of you stellar fans.

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24 August 2011


	5. Father to Son

Disclaimer: All lyric rights to "Little Wonders" belong to Rob Thomas, WEA International, and Atlantic. Rob Thomas appears courtesy of Melisma/Atlantic Records. For disclaimer on _Meet the Robinsons_, please refer to chapter one.

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Chapter Five: Father to Son

"Hmm…" Franny sighed happily as she reached out and touched her son's face gently.

"What?" Wilbur asked curiously.

"I was just thinking about you when you were a baby… You and your father…"

"Dad?" he asked skeptically. She nodded.

"Your father loves you so much," she said, combing back a few loose strands of hair from his face. She went on, telling him about the memories she and her husband had shared, revolving around their son's birth.

* * *

_Monday, January 31st 2022_

Cornelius knew how wide his grin was, and he did not try to hide it. He had just received the best, most exciting news he had ever heard in his entire life. Franny had confirmed her pregnancy. Finally, he was going to have a son. The twenty-seven-year-old man hurried down a corridor of the house. He could not wait a second more to make the announcement to the rest of the family.

_Thursday, June 2nd 2022_

It had not been six months later when Franny laid feverishly in bed, tossing her head from side to side, and her hands placed against her belly. Sweat dripped from her brow, as her painful, rapid breathing increased. Cornelius worriedly reached out and wiped her brow, as he waited as patiently as he could for the ambulance to arrive.

Hours went by as he waited for Franny to return. He stood out the front of the hospital, the sky quickly darkening. The sliding doors came open, and Cornelius turned around to see Franny standing right in front of him, looking tired but healthier than before. With both of her arms in front of her, holding her purse tightly, she looked sadly at her husband, and quickly cast her eyes down.

With one glance at her devastating view, Cornelius knew. He stared at her with wide, sapphire eyes and a gaping mouth of pure shock. No, he thought, shaking his head slightly. Rushing over to her, he grabbed her in a tight embrace and cried, tears falling merciless down his cheeks. Franny miscarried their baby.

He had just lost Wilbur.

Franny stayed in bed for nearly a month, too depressed to do little else. Cornelius hardly rested, spending all his time in his laboratory. Frustrated, he crumpled up the piece of paper he scribbled on, and threw it at the already-full recycling bin. All his plans he wrote out never seemed to work. Keep moving forward, he constantly reminded himself. Keep moving forward.

He never realized how truly difficult it was to stick with that belief, until recently. He just lost his son, why bother moving on? He leaned his elbow against his desk, buried his face in his left hand, and sighed deeply. Glancing at his digital calendar, a thought struck him. Picking it up, he flipped through the virtual pages.

It wasn't his time, Cornelius thought. The baby Franny carried was too early. Wilbur was supposed to be born in the year 2024. It was more than a year too early. There was still hope. The inventor straightened up in his seat, cleared his thoughts, picked up his pencil, and began to work diligently.

Eleven months seemed to have swept by in practically no time at all. Day by day, everyone in the Robinson household went along with their regular routines. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but more or less, all members were content with their usual schedules.

On one summer evening, Cornelius stepped out from the garage as he arrived home from work, making a decent pace to his bedroom. He walked through the door, and saw his wife sitting anxiously on the bed, with tears rolling down her cheeks. He barely noticed the smile that lingered on her lips.

"Fran! What's the matter?" he asked, concerned. She got up and hurried over to him, hands placed against the sides of his face and kissing him repeatedly on the lips.

"Hi," she said between kisses. "I'm pregnant again." He pulled her away to look into her eyes.

"You mean it?" he asked, surprised. She smiled widely, and nodded her head happily. Cornelius sobbed in happiness as he hung onto Franny. This was it. This was Wilbur. Soon he would be in his arms at last.

The painful memory of the miscarriage had taught him not to take things for granted and not jump to conclusions. He had thought that he had lost him there for a moment. It was a dreadful thought, but now it did not matter anymore. They were finally having a son.

_Sunday, March 10th 2024_

Cornelius stood over his desk in the laboratory, mulling over some blueprint designs. He had cut down on his hours working at the industry, as Franny's due date was close approaching and needed to stay nearby in case she needed him. The company was lenient about his time off in order to take care of family issues, but with new projects on the rise, they were expecting him to push productivity forward once he returned to work full-time.

Absorbed in the sea of paper spread across his work area, Cornelius missed the knocking against the room's entrance. Suddenly, Bud's head poked through to door.

"Son?" he said calmly, but there was a sense of urgency embedded in his tone. The younger man spun around to face his adoptive father. "It's Franny. She... She..." Concerned, Cornelius rushed over as Bud finished his sentence. "Just gave birth in the courtyard!"

His blue eyes widened. There was no need for words; his expression said it all. _What?_

"Impatient little thing, isn't he?" Bud stated, hands on his hips. "Decided then and there that he wanted to come into the world."

Pulling off his lab coat, Cornelius tossed it over to the coat rack. Missing the hook, it fluttered to the ground as the pair hurriedly made their way down the hall.

"Luckily," Bud continued while they hasted through the house, "Billie was nearby to help deliver him!"

Relief washed over the new dad. At least she wasn't alone, he thought. The family was relocated to the general hospital. After a couple hours of commotion, things started to settle down. The good news of the mother and baby were healthy and doing well. Now the bunch had dispersed into different locations at the hospital as they waited for a signal to regroup back at the Robinson residence.

Art and Gaston were in the cafeteria, eating a very late lunch. Nine-year-old Laszlo and five-year-old Tallulah were in the play-area section of the lobby, wandering over to the gift shop at some point to read the children's books and look through the souvenirs. Joe, Fritz, and Petunia all stayed home, anticipating the arrival of the latest addition to the Robinson family.

Cornelius stood at the room's window, rocking his newborn boy in his arms as he quietly sang a lullaby.

"Our lives are made

In these small hours

These little wonders

These twisted turns of fate

Time falls away

But these small hours

These small hours

Still remain"

He glanced over his shoulder to check on his wife, who slept deeply in her bed. Then he looked across the room over at Billie, who also slept soundlessly, curled up in the chair next to Franny's bed. Smiling, he know how hard both women worked to bring his child into the world.

Cornelius turned to the window once more. He could see his parents walking through the hospital's flower garden. They both looked up to see him staring back at them. Smiling, they enthusiastically waved at him. He returned the smile, and waved back.

Sitting down in the rocking chair in between the window and the bed, continuing to sing the lullaby to his son. The baby blinked open his eyes and stared at his father curiously. A huge smile split across the man's face, as the boy shut his eyes once again and slept for another long length of time.

A soft knock was made against the door frame. Cornelius was able to tear his eyes off the infant to look up at the visitor. Mousy, brown hair and a boyishly cute face appeared.

"Mike!" Cornelius called softly. "Come in, come in!" He stood up as Michael made his way across the room.

"Hey, Lewis!" the man said quietly. "So this is the legendary Wilbur!" he said of the newborn. Cornelius could only beam proudly.

"Would you like to hold him?" the recent dad asked his childhood pal, and the twenty-six-year-old looked surprised by his question. He held out his arms in response. Gingerly, the scientist lifted the baby and placed him in the open hands.

Michael stared, holding the child as if he were afraid to break him. Eventually, a nervous smile graced the man's face. "Hey there, kid. How's life treating you so far?"

The blonde stuck his hands in his pants' pockets, and cleared his throat. "How's your wife doing?"

Michael looked up at his companion. "She's doing alright," he answered, still anxiously cradling the baby. "Settling into married life." Slowly, he looked down at Wilbur again. "Still a way's off from having one of our own, but I think she's alright with that for now."

Cornelius nodded understandingly. Glancing at Billie sleeping in the chair across the room before turning his attention to the two younger males, he took an intake of air into his lungs to speak.

"Hey, Mike..." Brown eyes trailed up to meet blue. "I was wondering if you would want to be Wilbur's godfather." Again, the surprised look was apparent on Michael's face in reaction to the request, but momentarily his expression softened.

"Well, here's the thing..." Cornelius' hopeful smile washed away, and Michael nearly laughed at the idea that his former roommate would think he would say 'no'. "We were wondering that you would be our little squirt's god dad, too."

The smile came back, bigger than ever. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Franny started to rouse, giving Michael a tired smile as she propped her head up with her hand and elbow rested on the pillow. "Hey, Mikey," came the weary yet cheerful greeting. With Wilbur in hand, Michael sat down in the empty chair next to the new mother.

"Hey, Franny," Cornelius heard him say as he stood back to take in the sight, and smiled. This was his future.

_These small hours still remain..._

_Tuesday, June 18th 2024_

Franny walked into the room, finding her husband tiredly collapsed on the couch, still wearing his lab coat. Resting on his chest was their infant son, rising up and down as Cornelius slowly breathed. Franny smiled as they both slept peacefully. Quietly, she walked over and pulled off the folded quilt hanging over the backside of the sofa, unfolding it, and draping it gracefully over the two wonderful men she had in her life.

* * *

Wilbur sighed, staring down into his mother's cooled tea. So it was true that his father really did care about him. Occasionally he would forget. He would forget about his father's caring words, forget about the fact that they truly were close. His mother's stories were the reminders that he needed to reassure him. Finally satisfied, the teen's lips turned up into a smile.

"I'm kinda tired," he yawned, rising from his seat. "I think I'm gonna lie down for a bit."

"Let me know if you need anything," she told him. He smiled tiredly and nodded before turning around to exit out of the kitchen. But as soon as he did so, he felt something solid collided with him.

"Oh, sorry, sport," Gaston apologized, ruffing his nephew's hair as he side-stepped out of the boy's way. Glancing up, Wilbur caught the edgy look in his eyes that his mother had been referring to. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," he answered, his tone becoming a little flat, as he continued to make his way out the room.

Once he was through, Wilbur left the door open just a crack, while he listened to his mother firmly asked his uncle, "Alright, spill. What's wrong?"

Gaston was about to he sighed. "It's crazy..."

"Of all the crazy things that this family has been through?" Franny said. "Try me."

"Promise not to freak out?" He sounded apprehensive. There was a moment of silence. His mother must have made a non-verbal response. "Yesterday, I..." Pause. "I... I think... I think I saw..." Just spit it out, Gaston! Wilbur shouted in his mind. "I think I saw Pete," he finally said in a low voice.

His mother gasped. "How could you say that? You know that Pete is dead!" She sounded upset. But why? Who was Pete?

"I know, I know!" Gaston exasperated.

They continued the discussion with information that did Wilbur no good, like where and when Gaston saw "Pete", but nothing they talked about clued the boy in about who "Pete" even was! He moved away from the door, and walked towards the center of the living room, just as one of Billie's trains approached. He hopped on to hitch a ride. Maybe Billie could tell him something about this Pete character.

* * *

End of Chapter Five

* * *

Author's Note: I know that a four-year hiatus was a long time for you to wait, so I can't blame you for giving up on this story. Still, I'm seriously bummed that I didn't get a single review for chapter four. I guess that I've lost all of my followers, or maybe everyone has grown bored with this fandom? I don't know for sure. I feel like I need some personal closure with this story, so I'm going to continue writing this anyway. It may take a while, but I do intend on finishing... The next two chapters are the ones I've been waiting to write!

* * *

19 September 2011


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